


Fill The Void with Malarkey

by TheMissluluB



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Awkward, M/M, Movie Night, Movie day? Who knows, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, So Very Awkward, These boys are too awkward i love them, What do you mean I'm Projecting, autistic characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 04:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13697301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMissluluB/pseuds/TheMissluluB
Summary: He talks a lot. In another life, you would have killed him for his blood colour, but you know yourself it was a mercy killing at best.But your name is Horuss, not Darkleer, and you’re not too sure how to feel about Kankri Vantas.





	Fill The Void with Malarkey

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr Valentines gift for [ruffles-nillawafers](https://ruffles-nillawafers.tumblr.com/)!

He talks a lot. That’s an understatement and a half considering who you’re talking about, but it’s true. From what you had heard from your friendship group, you’re the only one who actually listens to what he says.

In another life, you would have killed him for his nauseating blood colour, and the fact he committed high treason. But you’re pretty sure that if you had listened to him then, if you had the STRENGTH to say no to the orders, if you had the STRENGTH to _do the right thing_ _,_ you would have saved him. You are definitely sure your other self killed him to put his body out of its misery. A mercy killing, really. Your alternate let his mate go, to escape and spread his word, and the rest was Alternian history.

But you’re not him. You are not Executor Darkleer from Alternia.

Your name is Horuss Zahhak, from Beforus, and you’re not sure how you feel about Kankri Vantas.

* * *

Most of what he speaks about is completely meaningless. It’s social justice garbage pulled straight from the deep, dark depths of Squidblr, and rehashed into something worse. But no one can tell him that; he wouldn’t listen to them if they did, and besides that, he’ll go off on another spiel, talking about how he’s… whatever phrase he used, you can’t remember. He talks about things such as ‘problematic things’, and how making oneself ‘unproblematic’ is the only thing capable of giving him any sense of purpose.

There’s no such thing as ‘unproblematic’. You don’t think he knows that. _You want to change that._

There’s a peculiar difference between him and the Signless of Alternia, though. He doesn’t believe that the ways his alternate used were good - in fact, he believes them to be atrocious. Talk about a cruel irony, considering you are _pretty_ sure the Signless led his rebellion in memoriam of Kankri and the rest of Beforus. Though, that rhetoric could be the Beforian in him talking. None of you were used to the violence and death commonplace on Alternia. You’re just glad you never witnessed any of it.

Another thing about him that’s peculiar is that he can’t lead a team properly. But then again, who in your team _can_ _?_ Your team sucked! But, he was supposed to be the leader. That was his _role._ But he lead you into shambles. That’s not to say he never _tried_ _,_ in fact, he tried too hard, and someone else took the wheel instead. No one took him seriously. Not even you.

Your reasoning as to why you in particular never took him seriously was rather silly in hindsight. You needed to get over yourself. You _need_ to get over yourself. The Hemospectrum is nonsense. The game’s over, now. Everyone got out safe. Everyone’s ok. Everyone has moved on from that.

That is, everyone except you… and him.

Somehow, like your alternate selves on Alternia, the end had brought you two closer together. You’re committed to the fact that this time would be different. Mainly because you’re pretty sure you’re pale for Kankri. But you’re not entirely sure.

You’ve never been sure with your own feelings. Feelings are hard and stupid and you wonder why they exist.

Your main issue in being pale _for_ someone is that you’re supposed to tell your moirail everything and… well, you don’t think you can bring yourself to do that. You can’t tell anyone personal things about yourself; you can’t figure out who you _are._ Plus, you hate the thought of being coddled, of being _culled._ Telling _anyone_ one particular secret you’re hiding _would_ lead to that. You’re a blueblood, for grist’s sake, and an _indigo_ at that! You’re part of the CIPs, the Elite class of trolls, with the exception of Royal V’s. But hey, what’s that matter _now?_ Your blood means as much as the colour of your skin - which is grey, like any other troll.

You can be culled for a variety of things, you know that. One of these things is Autism. Which is bad, because you’re Autistic. And you don’t want to get culled. You match most of the criteria you read - you’re hyper empathetic, have problems processing sounds, hyperfixate on hoofbeasts, and you will fidget if not given something stimulating to do. Your pony-tail helps keep your hair off your neck, but you still like the weight that it gives you. It’s your mane, and you are _proud of it_.

Telling people, even now, will lead to people thinking you’re weak, thinking that they need to _cull_ you. So to prevent this, you fake being neurotypical so hard people don’t seem to question otherwise. You force yourself to do it despite the fact that you don’t want to be neurotypical. You’re glad faking it means that no one would ask otherwise.

Culling is the worst possible fate. You don’t want to associate yourself with it.

* * *

A few weeks pass, but the days passing did nothing but further confirm your feelings. You really _are_ pale for him. Pale for his stupid face which you want to pap very gently - you don’t want to break him with your superior STRENGTH - and tell him how to better himself. Show him how he can be respected despite his many, _many_ physical and societal barriers he’s to climb over. You want to tell him that he has so much potential that he hasn’t unlocked, you just know it. You can _sense_ it.

He’s not like you; you’re destined for nothing at all. No matter what you do, it will never be right. Perfection doesn’t exist, you keep having to remind yourself, but sometimes it’s easier to fixate on what’s wrong with a thing. But him? If he could just… _listen to himself,_ instead of populating the free air with words of no higher value, then maybe he could use his words for a better purpose, and make them _mean_ something.

You want to see him grow in ways you’ll never be able to. He has the capacity to do so, you know it. You _want_ to help him become the best version of himself.

You bring him with you to your quiet cottage in the forest, complete with log burner and vegetable garden. You think he likes it. You know you do. It is tranquil.

He asks why there is no internet connection, and you simply explain that the signal here is so terrible that it would be a waste of time to even attempt to install it. It’s not exactly a lie, but not exactly true, either. The truth is, you haven’t got round to making a signal-booster, and honestly you’re putting it off by a long mile. He buys it nonetheless.

It’s when you are both eating snacks watching a movie that you notice he speaks at people, instead of to them. You have a tendency to do that, you understand he doesn’t mean to. At least you hope he doesn’t. He mentions something that peaks your interest. It was something about snow globes. You had a good analogy about them, but you can’t remember what it was, which is quite frankly annoying.

“I like snow globes,” You mumble instead, “They’re nice.”

He turns to face you. “Were you even listening?”

“Of horse-uh. Course I was. You mentioned something about snow globes,” You say, sporting a small smile, “So I said ‘I like snow globes, they’re nice’,”

“I-” He starts, before shaking his head and facing the TV again. “Yes, they are nice. It is quite a shame when they break, however,”

“I think anything object is fixable with enough ‘TLC’,” You reply, “Even then, sometimes things can be better when they’re broken. It makes it unique.”

“Really now. Do you think the same way about people too?” He asks. You… don’t understand the question. You tell him that, too.

“I don’t understand what that has to do with broken objects. Please elaborate,”

He sighs. “If someone broke their arm, would it be better left broken?”

You blink, “No, but that can be easily fixed, easily healed, or if it’s too bad, easily replaced.”

“So, in a person, what would be better left broken?”

“I…? Don’t understand, I’m sorry.”

“Hmm.” He goes off into his head for a few minutes to think, and you take a few handfuls of popcorn and shove them into your mouth. You like popcorn, but you hate when it gets stuck in your teeth, that’s the _worst feeling ever. Eugh. Yuck. Disgusting-_

“Horuss!”

“AHH!” You scream and jump quite literally in the air. “You startled me there, I apologise,” A ‘Please don’t do that again’ is left unsaid.

“As I was saying, what would you call a person better left broken?”

“Oh, that’s easy; me,”

“You… call them-” He stops mid sentence, and shakes his head. He’s staring at you- Oh no, you said that out loud. “Horuss, self-depreciative humour is a triggering topic best avoided, and I don’t want you to participate in it. You’re better than that,” He chastises you. You pull lightly on the hem of your shirt.

“I’m sorry,” You say. He nods, accepting the apology.

… Wait.

“You really think I’m better than that?” You say. You don’t meet his eyes when you look up, but then again he does not meet your own either. Wait, what?

“Well, I certainly think it’s beneath you. Honestly, I’m surprised to see you partake in it in the first place,” He says.

“All I said was the truth,” You quietly reply, shrugging.

“Obviously, your perception of the truth is warped,” He says, crossing his arms. You have a funny feeling this might lead in one of two directions, and you can’t figure out what direction it will go. Nonetheless, you listen intently to his speech.

“For starters, you shouldn’t call yourself broken, it will lead to a self-fulfilling prophecy, then you really _will_ become as such. Plus, you’ll never get out of the spiralling cycle of depression by being _more_ self depreciative. It makes you fall further down the spiral. It’s difficult to understand, but you need to think more positively about yourself; this way, you can work things out more effectively, and plus you’ll find it easier to pull yourself back up from the depths of depression. Not that I’m saying you’re depressed, though you do certainly act like it, but thinking about things - thinking about _yourself_ \- in a more positive light can lead to you becoming a better version of yourself. That’s my opinion, anyway.”

“That’s hoofbeast manure,”

“What?”

“Some things can’t be fixed by ‘positive thinking’,”

“It’s a _start_ _,_ ”

“It’s _stupid._ Some things are better left broken, and that’s all there is to say on the matter,”

“Why do you think you’re unable to be fixed?”

“Because-” You start, and immediately stop yourself. You can’t bring yourself to answer that.

Everything you’ve learnt about yourself - what you _know_ is you - had all been accessed illegally, from a culling self help book of all places. ‘A Cullers’ Guide to Culling a Neurodivergent Wiggler’. You initially accessed it to see if you could take a hand at culling when you grew up, and after reading it realised that the idea was quite possibly the _worst possible idea, ever._ A thousand online quizzes confirmed your theory of ‘Oh Geez, that’s me’, and you avoided the issue ever since. The book had painted it as bad, told you that it couldn’t be fixed, only dealt with accordingly. You’re broken, that’s that. All the money in the world couldn’t fix that.

“Because what?” You only just hear it, you’re too deep into your thoughts.

“Because… Because I’m broken.” You certainly sound like you are. A broken _record._

“You’re not explaining _why!_ You’re repeating the same thing over and over and it’s honestly on the verge of triggering,” He argues. You know he’s trying to help, but you’re stubborn, and you’re not going to back down. You try telling him you don’t really want to talk about it, but he still won’t take no for an answer.

“Fine. Fine!” You say, after 10 more minutes of needless needling from him, “My brain’s broke!”

“Your  _what?”_

“My brain. It doesn’t work right.”

“Your brain… doesn’t work right.” He says, and you can _hear_ the disbelief, for once. “That makes no sense. If your brain didn’t work right you wouldn’t be able to move… or do anything, really. Honestly Horuss, I thought you knew that. Brains are like… like the power button of the body-” No, no that’s wrong, that is so incredibly wrong how are you _pale_ for him, he doesn’t know how a _computer_ works-

“Please never make a computer or a robotics analogy again, oh my God,”

“Not my point.” You can  _hear_ the pout, “What I mean is that if your brain doesn’t work, it won’t _do_ anything,”

You sigh, “It works well enough in executing basic bodily functions, such as movement. In everything else it fails,”

He blinks confusedly. “Wh-Like what, exactly?”

You sigh. You’re going to have to tell him what you think at _some_ point. Might as well be now. “Like, socially.”

“Are you an introvert?” He asks you, and all you think is ‘the heck is an introvert?’

“I’m Autistic.” You reply. There it is. Meowbeast is out of the bag.

“Yes, I am too, but are you an introvert?”

… What.

“What.”

Why isn’t he reacting in the way you expected him to?? What is going on?? You didn’t plan for this-

“If you don’t know, an introvert is someone who finds comfort in solitude, and uses it to recharge their ‘social batteries’, like a mobile phone, for example, only the charge is the amount of socialising one has done,” He explains.

Not what you were looking for, but you take it anyway.

“I suppose I am, then.”

“You should do a Troll Myers-Briggs test, it’ll tell you what letters you are in regards to-” He carries on talking about personality types, and you listen to him ramble about it. You never noticed how cute he was when he really gets going on a topic.

Of course, your train-of-thought crashes when you remember you told him about your… thing, and that he didn’t react the way you thought he of all people would.

“Kankri, may I interject your lecture to ask a mare-uh. Mere query?” You mumble. Shockingly, he hears you.

“Oh. Well, usually people interrupt me- anyway, yes, go ahead,”

“Why aren’t you reacting?”

“Re… acting?” He sounds confused, fiddlesticks…

“Like you should be reacting…?” You prompt him, but he still looks confused.

“How… What? Horuss, speak clearly, you’re not making any sense,”

You have to stop yourself from growling when you shout, “ _Why aren’t you trying to cull me?”_

You cover your mouth in shock of your own voice, and in shock of what you just said.

Kankri’s reaction? Well. Uhm.

Well, he blinks. Opens his mouth, only to shut it again. You have succeeded in making Kankri Vantas speechless and it doesn’t feel like the achievement it should feel like. You blink, and apologise for yelling.

“Why would I _ever_ do that?” He whispers, sounding quite frankly astonished.

You sniffle, “I just told you something that I should be culled for, why aren’t you attempting -” You cut yourself off because he just papped you.

He _papped_ you.

Your brain short-circuits for approximately 7 minutes.

When it reboots itself, you find him sitting with his hands in his lap and sporting a bright (really bright, dear gosh, this is _depraved)_ blush. You mirror the action subconsciously, averting your own gaze. “Uhm.”

“I apologise for forcing that on you, that was quite an immeasurable and quite frankly triggering misjudgement I had made in a split second-”

“I didn’t mind,” You interrupt, _not_ squeaking as you do. You do not squeak. You swear you don’t. You’re also _not_ blushing.

“No, I-. I practically-” He’s stammering, _panicking_ , you need to stop him- need to make him _relax-_

“Can I do that to you?” The words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them. You’d be mortified if you weren’t already completely embarrassed at your actions. You look up at him. Kankri fails to produce any words. This is the second time you’ve made him speechless. You think you like this time more than the first time you did it.

You think he’s going to decline the offer, but he nods. He’s not exactly looking at you though. You have a feeling it’s a ‘Well, I did it to you, it’s only fair for you to do the same’ kind of thing. This puts you in a weird position. You know he doesn’t like being touched, or that he doesn’t like being touched without someone asking permission first. Which he did just give, but you would feel bad if you did that. 

You make a decision, and shuffle yourself closer to Kankri until your knees nearly touch his, but not quite. You sigh. “I think.” Words are incredibly hard, you see why Kankri was so speechless, “I think you’re a mess.”

“Wh… _What.”_

That came out wrong.

“You’re a mess, and your convoluted words are meaningless, and quite frankly you suck at making people listen to you.” You’re finding your hands very, _very_ interesting, and honestly you can hear yourself fiddle- _fucking_ this up. “But. You’re stupid. But cute! Has anyone told you how cute you are when you talk about something you’re interested in, because you are very cute and animated and everything I can never be but love to see and I want to. To… hug. Mould. Shape. You’re a nice noise to listen to.”

It’s quiet for approximately 10 minutes after you said that. You aren’t sure if you like it. You think Kankri is processing what you said, but you’re not sure. It… admittedly wasn’t the clearest you’ve been; it was the most cryptic, in fact. This is so hard to do, gosh, you’ll never figure it out.

“Are. Is that. Are you-” He spends a couple seconds mumbling to himself words you can’t hear properly. He takes a deep breath and starts again, “Is this your way of saying you like me in a romantic manner?”

“Yes. Specifically the pale one,” You elaborate. You feel really awkward.

“Oh.” You glance over, and try to parse what he’s thinking. Of course, you fail miserably, but you can at least try to hold onto some hope that he’s at least _considering_ your feelings. For all you know, he could be inwardly revolting at the thought and trying to find a way to reject you in the nicest way possible. You wouldn’t be surprised, you’ve always sucked at relationships.

Of course that trail of thought leads to a downward spiral of anxiety, but you’re used to that by now.

So you are caught a little by surprise when you see him nod. He looks over at you, “Ok. Okay. I understand your feelings, and I realise that all this makes a little more sense now. This is me accepting your feelings on the matter, and… and.” He stops mid-sentence, and you tilt your head in confusion.

“And what?” You ask him. He mumbles something so quiet that it takes you a few seconds to realise he actually said something. You ask him to repeat, which he does repeat, but that still doesn’t help you understand what he said. Especially considering it’s just a slightly louder mumble. You sigh, before asking to repeat what he said a third time, but using actual words because you’re not processing anything right now.

He huffs and looks away from you, “I. Hope you accept my feelings in return.”

Feelings on wh-

…

_Oh._

You need an entire stack of towels right now. Maybe- Maybe even a _pile._

Calm down, Horuss, you’re galloping ahead of the herd far too fast. Not everyone goes to the pile stage straight away. That’s. That’s  _depraved._

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

It’s awkwardly quiet between the two of you for a while. The sound of the start menu repeating over and over from the now finished movie fills the room.

“So,” You start, awkwardly, “What now?”

He shrugs. “I… I mean, we could watch another movie? I know of one that I quite like, even if it’s a romantic comedy,”

“I… I had thought that genre was your favourite anyway.”

“Shh.” He says, flushing. So you’re right, then. You smile, and for once it feels genuinely nice.

Kankri changes the disc to the movie ‘In Which a Jadeblood Falls in a Serendipitous Flush With a Bronzeblood, Who Is Presumed Dead When Taken Aboard With Pirates; The Jadebloood Gets Betrothed To The Cruel Violetblood Prince Of The Land, But Gets Kidnapped By a Group Of Trolls’… _et cetera._ It’s actually a really funny movie! You liked it a lot. You rest yourself closer to him, before asking if he’d like anything to eat. He nods, so you offer him a hand up, and walk towards your food-preparation block to make some food for the both of you to share for another few movies. Today is obviously a movie day, which you honestly don’t mind at all.

* * *

He talks a lot.

Paradoxically, you think that’s both one of his best and worst qualities. You’re pretty-no, you’re 100% sure you like the complexity of it.

It defines him, just as the Void defines you.

Your name is Horuss Zahhak, and you are indeed pale as stars for Kankri Vantas, and he reciprocates those feelings you have. That’s probably the best thing, ever.  

**Author's Note:**

> I project a lot and Kankri Vantas was the first HS Character I headcanoned as Autistic. Horuss was the second.
> 
> And yes, that movie WAS The Princess Bride.


End file.
